For the Good of the State

Audley shook his head, unsmiling. ‘Not if you remember the bit that comes before, where the soldier says that the king has a heavy reckoning to make “when all those legs and arms and heads, chopt off in battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry all, ’We Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State died at such a place‘.” ’ He shook his head again. ‘Bad joke.

Forgive me, Tom. I apologize.’

‘No need to.’ He had never seen the old man so serious, not even after the news of Basil Cole’s death. ‘I have been getting careless.’

‘And I have been worse than careless: I have been playing my little games maybe a little too thoughtlessly of late—Panin’s right. And that gives him the edge on me now.’ He looked at Tom sadly. ‘It’s like my wife has said on occasion: “How can such a clever man as you so often end up being too clever by half?” ’ Sniff. ‘My trouble is… as you get older there are things you can’t do any more, Tom.

So sometimes I get a little bored. And then I make a little excitement for myself. So… now I am justly served, perhaps. But you are not.’

Poor old bugger! Getting older was something Tom had occasionally thought about. But not being older. But now he didn’t know quite how to react. ‘It’s okay, David.’ He patted the Cortina.

‘In Beirut I used to do this all the time, pretty much. It’s all right.’

‘It isn’t all right. Being too clever by half is bad enough. But not being clever enough is worse. People get killed when I’m not clever enough. And I’m not being clever enough at the moment, I suspect.’

That could really only mean one thing. ‘You think Panin’s up to something—apart from protecting Zarubin?’

‘Hmm… I’ll tell you something about Comrade Panin, Tom—one of the things we do know about him. He was the pupil of a man named Berzin, who was a professor of psychology in the Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Dzerzhinksy KGB Centre in the old days. We’ve got a whole book of his lectures in our archives, which some thoughtful person presented to us. Lots of theories, old Berzin had—some of ’em simple and old hat, some of ‘em devious as hell. “Get your enemy to do your work for you”, was one… and one that Panin likes, too.

But there was another one I recall, because it’s pricking my thumbs at the moment. Berzin called it his “Benefit Maximization” theory, or some such jargon—he liked jargon. What he meant, though, was that having a main objective in any operation should never preclude subsidiary objectives. In fact, he even referred to “the single objective heresy”: “the successful operative must balance caution and calculation with daring, risk-acceptance and greed for windfall benefits in what may seem unrelated sectors of activity…

” Or something like that—I’m not sure of the translation of

“windfall”, but “greed” is the exact word, straight out of the Bible in Russian, apparently.’ Audley nodded. ‘And our Nikolai is nothing if not greedy. Apart from which… if, as he says and I very much suspect, his present position is as uncertain as mine is… he needs to ride home with a whole lot of severed heads attached to his saddle- bow.’

It was a chilly metaphor, as cold as the metal under his hand, thought Tom. ‘And yours may be one of them, you think?’

The brutal mouth twitched upwards. ‘Well, apart from Zarubin, I’m the only target around.’ Another twitch.

‘But it does occur to me now that if the “Sons of the Eagle” just happened to put a bullet through me… then no one could blame him, could they? That would have the virtue of neatness.’ The Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State twitch became the old familiar Beast-grin. ‘It just occurred to me out of the blue. And it’s probably quite fanciful.’

The metal was almost burning-cold. ‘We don’t have to keep his next rendezvous, David. We could let him go it alone—’

‘Cut-and-run! For him? ’ This time the sniff was worthy of the nose. ‘Not on your nelly, Tom! The day I do that for Panin… then he doesn’t have to worry about me ever again. And right now he still does, I tell you.’

It was useless to argue with him, because his pride certainly equalled Panin’s greed.

‘Besides which… I’d never know what he was up to, would I?’

The Beast-grin softened. ‘And I couldn’t abide that—it would make me bully my wife and beat my daughter.’ Audley shook his head almost cheerfully. ‘And we couldn’t have that, could we! So let’s go, then—where glory waits.’

Maybe the car wouldn’t start, hoped Tom. But he had just looked at the engine under the bonnet, and it had looked the way the garage man said it would—almost as good as the beaten-up Chevy he had used in Beirut.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Audley stopped halfway into the car.

‘What do you want now? Wasn’t it a phone—?’

‘I’d prefer you not to wear that raincoat, for a start.’ Better anger than despair.

Audley raised himself, huge and off-white. ‘Why the hell not?’

‘It stands out like a—like a fucking sore thumb, David.’

‘What?’ The old Audley sparked again. ‘You want me to die of Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State pneumonia, then?’

‘Pneumonia would suit me fine.’ He preferred the old Audley, actually. ‘No one’s going to blame me for that. And it isn’t usually terminal these days, anyway. But… suit yourself.’ He ought to have known that the direct approach never worked with the old man.

But Audley was nevertheless obediently taking the coat off. ‘I shall put it on again if it rains.’ He balled the coat